


Revelation(s)

by Paclipas



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Feels, Castiel Deserves to be Happy (Supernatural), Castiel in the Men of Letters Bunker (Supernatural), Castiel is one patient MOFO, Dean Winchester Has Realizations, Dean Winchester is Loved, Domestic, Emotional Baggage, Existential Crisis, Friendship/Love, Jack Ex-Machina, Late Night Conversations, Love Confessions, M/M, Mutual Pining, Post 15x19, Post-Canon Fix-It, Precious Castiel (Supernatural), Slow Build, Supportive Sam Winchester, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, divine intervention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-09
Updated: 2020-12-09
Packaged: 2021-03-09 17:41:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27980178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Paclipas/pseuds/Paclipas
Summary: /rɛvəˈleɪʃ(ə)n/noun1. a surprising and previously unknown fact that has been disclosed to others.(e.g. having an angel confess his love just before he dies)2. the divine or supernatural disclosure to humans of something relating to human existence.(e.g. realizing the full extent of that love as you battle your inner demons when said angel is returned to you)
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 3
Kudos: 101





	Revelation(s)

**Author's Note:**

> Figured I'd wrap two completely whipped idiots into a blanket of angst and existentialism for my own pleasure.  
> This is a love letter to their complicated mutual adoration, which at times is more than just a bit unhealthy but still heals my soul like nothing else.  
> Trust the process, it will be sweet, I promise. 
> 
> x

Dean had to live with his best friend being dead. Probably worse than dead. Not that he’d claim to be very familiar with the exact rules of the Empty and the Shadow residing within it but from the few glimpses he’d caught it hadn’t looked like a relaxing stay. Loss was a terrible thing to deal with as it was, even without the added burden of knowing that the subject of your grief was simultaneously gone for good and also being held hostage in a twisted afterlife. Still, he could consider himself somewhat of an expert in dealing with it, had experienced everyone he loved being sucked into countless versions of Heaven, Hell and everything in between. His coping methods were far from healthy reaching from flat out denial and throwing himself over-enthusiastically into the joys of mundane events, all the way to taking a book out of his late friend’s legacy and drinking what might as well have been an entire liquor store. While the scale between those end-points was in its entirety meant to numb him to the point that he could survive somehow, he couldn’t claim that it made him oblivious to the pain his actions caused the people left around him. Sam knew better than to bring it up, just silently resigned himself to clearing away the remnants of whiskey-fueled nights of despair while Dean was out cold, or serving grease-soaked depression meals on the rare occasions he found him awake and sober. One day it would become easier, or at least less crippling, to live with the fact that everything they had accomplished, the world they had saved, it had all ended in a roundabout way like it had begun; with an angel giving up all he he had for Dean.

A part of him hoped that Cas’s last words, directed at him and only him, would fade with time, one by one, like fireflies in a mason jar slowly losing their glow. That way he wouldn’t have to carry their profound weight in his heart for the rest of his life. At the same time it was his greatest fear that one day he might not remember them all. For now, they were a part of him, keeping him together like Cas had sewn them into the core of his very being with hurried stitches that would unintentionally leave a scar. It was poetic in a way, how Cas had marked him on the outside when they first met, and slowly worked his way inwards until he’d signed his name irrevocably into Dean’s heart; The battered organ of a broken man that he claimed was capable of so much love that it had been worth rebelling for. Like divinity had been a small price to pay for twelve years of purpose by the Winchesters’ side. It had been beyond Dean’s comprehension in the moment, how the angel could speak with such reverence about him, _to_ him, after years of keeping a protective filter in place like he had learned from the brothers themselves. _No chick flick moments_ had always been a poorly disguised warning: Don’t allow yourself to become overwhelmed. In their line of work with the life they’d been forced into by blood and divine intervention alike, any and all vulnerability could be a death sentence. So bottle it up, pretend like you can move on from whatever trauma is thrust at you, and hope it stays contained. If it doesn’t – and it’s really more of a _when_ than an _if_ \- you better hope you’re either alone or with someone who’s willing to ignore the fact that you’ve shown your cracks. Cas had not always heeded the warning, his emotions oozing out of him like sap desperately trying to mend the gaping hole in a tree. He’d never made a big secret of his love; For the abandoned angels after the Fall, for his brother in arms Sam, and Jack, the doomed son that his love helped shape into a worthy new God. Above all, his love for Dean. He’d not verbalized it often, but it had been written in his actions, openly available to read for whoever cared enough to do so. Maybe, if there had been any time at all in those last seconds, Cas would have found a moment to be disappointed at Dean never taking said care. Or rather that at the fact that he told himself it was a weakness whenever he had. Then again, no amount of fear or doubt could shake the indisputable truth of his words. That all of his happiness was encompassed in _just being_ with Dean. As his friend, his confidant, and sometimes - _too often_ \- his punching bag, taking each blow in stride and only rarely pushing back. He’d made his sacrifice seem like a fulfillment. Like dying for Dean Winchester, the one thing he wanted but couldn’t have, was an honor in itself. And while Dean may struggle with the fact that someone would- _could_ \- love him like that, so deeply and unconditionally despite knowing him inside and out, he wanted to be worth it. He wanted to break free from the shackles of his anger and be the man Cas saw when he looked at him.

As the weeks passed, his anger didn’t fade. It grew darker, more twisted, and started sowing doubt in his mind. Faint whispers that told him maybe Cas’s love had been misplaced, that maybe him being an angel meant what he thought of as love was really something else altogether, a sense of duty that just had shifted from Heaven to the next best focus point. After all, the angel had disappeared countless times, had triggered the feelings of abandonment stemming from a childhood of being left behind, and then had dared to claim that it was different when he did it somehow. That he stayed as long as he could and fought to return to them, to _Dean_ , from the moment he left. To his credit, he _had_ returned every single time, no matter how much Dean pushed and shoved him out of their lives to somehow prove that he was lying. Ultimately, the very source of Dean’s anger wasn’t directed at all the times he really had come back, but at the fact this time it was truly different. Permanent.

Except it wasn’t.

Cas came back almost exactly six weeks after he was supposed to be lost forever.

It was without much fanfare. He just showed up at the bunker one morning, in the same old suit and the twisted tie and the too-big trench coat that he wore like a protective blanket. After Lucifer’s stunt and its implications they very pointedly never talked about, they didn’t take any chances, pulling out the holy trinity of testing for possession or any of the other crap that could ruin the moment. Neither iron nor silver burned Cas and all the holy water did was leave a wet spot on his sleeve once he wiped it off his face. It was just him, arms hanging loosely at his sides like he’d just popped out on a quick errand, expression neutral, maybe a bit on the tired side.

Sam decided he wasn’t gonna look the gift horse in the mouth and for a moment Dean found himself disappointed that he wasn’t the one Cas was drawn to first. It was entirely unfair and the disappointment was quickly cast-off in favor of guilt. Cas wasn’t just _his_ best friend. However rocky the start of the angel’s relationship with his brother had been, there was no denying that their bond had grown strong over the years, tethered them together through a shared understanding of justice and the personal sacrifice it often required. They had found family in each other, as well as in their mutual efforts to keep Dean from making fatal choices, or cleaning up after them when he inevitably still went rogue. And despite all that knowledge there he was, sulking that they got to hug it out while he stood discarded on the side lines, as if the two of them hadn’t respectively given up everything for him. So much for being the _most_ _selfless_ _human being_ _._ Cas had maybe been back a total of five minutes and Dean was already proving that the angel had been wrong when he’d laid himself bare. It put enough of a damper on his mood that he couldn’t even fully commit to an embrace when Cas did step up to him, instead keeping him at arm’s length by clasping his shoulder a bit too firmly. His action wasn’t being questioned, was received with an appreciative smile nonetheless that was surely meant to be comforting but instead added to the ever-growing choir of the voices in his head that told him he wasn’t worthy of any of this after all. When he told Cas he was glad to have him back it was almost a lie. His heart threatened to tear apart at the very seams Cas had fought so hard to put in place, because _of course_ he wanted the angel there, present and alive and not suffering for eternity in the bleakest realm of Chuck’s multiverse. But he also thought he’d have more time to find acceptance over what had transpired between them. To maybe find a way back to that first day when the words had been fresh in his mind. When it had come easier than he’d thought it would as he’d resisted ending Chuck’s life, thereby rejecting the legacy of being the killer the fallen God had manipulated him into. Ultimately, six weeks had been enough to stray so far from any faith in himself that he didn’t dare look Cas in the eye once he let go of him.

They settled into the vague familiarity of their reunion as Cas relayed the anticlimactic tale of his rescue to them. One moment he’d been submerged in the stillness of the Empty, exposed to the raw torture of absolute nothingness, the next moment he’d been swept up in a flurry of air that had pulled him from his prison and dropped him off at the bunker’s doorstep. The hopeful smile as he shared this left little doubt as to who was responsible for returning him. _I’m around_ , Jack had told them, and while his hands-off approach was the only just way to repair the broken remains of his predecessor’s tyranny, he clearly had made an exception for the one being who had paved the way for him to step up to his position in the first place. While Cas had made good on his deal so Dean could live, he’d signed his life away long before that for the kid. Perks of that kid becoming the new God were that deals with the Empty became a moot point. So Cas was back where he belonged, no strings attached, ready to make the best of this very first chance at true free will together with the brothers that had introduced him to the concept in the first place. It should have been the best damn thing to happen to them, yet he found himself waiting in vain for the tension in his muscles to dissipate and the nervous stutter of his heart to cease and turn into the excited double-beat the situation called for. The forced smile on his face that should have come naturally was a hard and final blow to his self-worth that once and for all hammered the point home that he was completely and utterly undeserving of Cas’s devotion.

The angel quietly moved into his room of six years.

To no one’s surprise but Dean’s it was easy to have him back. Although he’d rarely stayed in the bunker over long periods of time, he was just as ingrained in the fabric of their mundane every day life there as the rest of them. The room had always been his, picked for him by Dean during his short-lived- _no pun intended_ \- stunt as a human. It was just two doors over from Dean’s own refuge, closer than Sam’s room even, because he’d chosen it with the intention of letting the then fallen angel know he had someone close by should he need them. They’d never openly addressed it and Cas had been forced out of the bunker and back into being an angel before any comfort could have been given to him back then. If he needed any comfort now, Dean wasn’t too sure he could provide it either, and he welcomed the way Cas threw himself into their newfound normalcy. He laughed with them over meals he didn’t eat, drank with them though it didn’t affect him, and went to bed on the cue of their _goodnights_ though he didn’t sleep. On the many nights where Dean lay awake, consumed by the guilt he felt at his conflicted emotions, he found himself wondering how the angel spent these countless hours alone. With Jack fixing Heaven by unraveling its power-structure, it brought unprecedented peace to the angels that remained, effectively stripping Cas of any feelings of obligation he might have still harbored for them after all the years of fighting his way back into their good graces. During the days he put the novel resource of free time to use by assisting Sam in figuring out a more centralized system to connect the hunters that had decided to still stick around for the job. The times of countless burner phones and tangled cords were long past their prime and Sam worked tirelessly on setting up a program on his laptop that would automatically connect incoming calls to the closest available hunter or a designated default line in the bunker. Of course Cas didn’t help with _that_. He was a great many things but tech-savvy was not one of them. Instead, he unintentionally gave Jody a heart attack when he called her to ask about her and the girls, unaware that according to her last update- courtesy of a phone conversation Dean had been too drunk during to even fully remember- he was supposed to be dead. That day had been the first time Cas’s demeanor had seemed strained since coming back, like he was taken off-guard by the fact that neither Dean nor Sam had deemed the news of his return worth sharing. In truth, having the angel back had just been so overwhelming, Dean never even stopped to consider sending out a newsletter. This in turn only worsened his nightly struggles because if the situation already had _him_ up at night, he didn’t dare imagine what it did to Cas who had nothing to do but stare at the ceiling.

One day he felt brave and put on a smile he knew didn’t reach his eyes and outright asked him how those hours were spent. They were alone in the kitchen after Sam had taken Eileen on a weekend trip. It was a simple inquiry but it felt strangely personal nonetheless, especially when Cas took a long moment to think about his reply. After considering his words he looked openly at Dean, opting not to hide behind any walls or forced brevity. Instead, he spoke in a gentle voice of what he’d been reading, books upon books on human philosophy and existentialism, in search of a new perspective. Staying idle wasn’t in his nature, though ironically Dean had never met anyone who could be as immovably still as Cas when lost in thought. He shared his doubts about doing the right thing by staying out of Heaven, while at the same time expressing how he finally could be certain of his Faith again because this time around it wasn’t a blind decision. Just like every time the topic of Jack came up the love he felt for the kid radiated off him to the point that Dean’s own appreciation felt inadequate somehow. Cas was still Cas, still stood just off center of the room with his hands in his coat pockets, but he somehow looked _softer_ as he allowed the fondness to ring through his words. As if confessing his love to Dean even without the prospect or expectation of ever having the sentiment returned, had put him permanently at ease with everything he felt. A faint sense of doom threatened just at the edges of Dean’s consciousness because this, Cas standing there and opening himself up to Dean with such clear emotions playing on his face, stood in stark contrast to Dean’s established motto of “Angelic love must be different to Human love”.

Instead of dealing with it in any productive way, Dean got himself a beer out of the fridge hoping to drown his fears in it. Cas didn’t comment on the way his hand shook slightly when he popped off the cap but it was clear he noticed when he cocked his head to the side in a silent plea of _Don’t do this_.

Dean still _did this_ , and he didn’t stop at just the one beer either, losing count at around five or six and deeming the buzzing in his head a good sign to switch over to liquor. Cas didn’t stay to watch this particular downward spiral, just left to who knew where for who cared how long. He told himself it didn’t matter that he was back to hurting the people he cared about because he didn’t _make_ them do anything. He didn’t _ask_ Sam to drag him from the kitchen floor to his room when he got back from his trip. He didn’t _ask_ Eileen to leave him a glass of water and half a pharmacy’s worth of headache remedies for the next morning. He especially didn’t fucking ask for Cas to _love him_. If they chose to do all that anyway it was their own damn fault that they ended up disappointed.

The deepest, most shameful part of him expected Cas to pull away after this, discover him for the rotten shell he was and finally recoil from him for good. Cas did no such thing. If anything he stuck around more, orbiting near Dean, always there but never close enough for him to feel suffocated. It slowly drew him into a sense of comfort as the weeks passed. The more time they allowed to leisurely flow, the more it became clear that the reason Cas wasn’t disappointed was because he wasn’t stalking around the bunker waiting for Dean to acknowledge his confession, or waiting for an answer. He was just enjoying his new chance at life and trying to find himself a place in this strange existence post-destiny. There was nothing in the way he treated Dean that showed any resentment. If anything he was being a really great friend and while that finally allowed for Dean to permit himself some happiness in the fact that it was _Cas_ and he was _back for good,_ it also made it crystal clear that the way Cas had acted around him even before his dramatic exit had been a testimony of his feelings for so long, Dean was afraid to really trace it back. From the fond eye-rolls at Dean’s admittedly lame jokes all the way to the gentle touches to his shoulder that he used to view as mindless; Cas’s love for him was plastered all over his actions. Subtle as a billboard next to the highway.

And really, truthfully, it shouldn’t have been a surprise but when Dean strolled into the kitchen a bit later than usual one morning, accepted the lukewarm cup of coffee Cas had clearly been waiting to give him, and returned the soft expression that he never saw directed at anyone but him, he realized that _fuck_ , he loved him too. It came as a revelation, crisp and golden like the first rays of sun breaking through the clouds after a heavy storm and he realized he’d been starved for this, for allowing himself to bask in something _good_. Ever since Cas had come back he’d been looking for a downside to it all, for the consequences that inevitably unfurled in a disaster, when in fact the only tragedy was how deeply oblivious he had been to how in love he was with his best friend.

Funnily enough, Cas seemed to notice the shift in Dean. He never said anything to acknowledge as much, of course, always a stickler to the unfair rules Dean set in place through his behavior. But he did seem slightly more tortured whenever Dean was particularly quick to pull away from him, which usually happened in the moments he found it the hardest to keep his distance. Unfortunately, it seemed that no matter how much his heart beat to the rhythm of nothing but _Cas, Cas, Cas_ , it didn’t make anything easier. It didn’t lessen his doubts regarding angel feelings and it certainly didn’t make it easier to be around the guy, even though it became a craving as weeks flowed into months. Cas being there was worse than the damn drink, lulling him into a stupor whenever he shared his particular opinions on something. Years ago he would have begged Cas to stop when he went off on a tangent, now he clung to his words like a drowning man to a lifeline. It was a miracle in itself that it hadn’t caused Sam to sit him down, stare at him with the mighty judgment of a concerned sibling, and point blank ask what his _deal_ was.

Dean wished that he could allow himself to open up, ease into his feelings bit by bit until it wouldn't be so overwhelming. It looked so easy with Sam and Eileen, the saccharine smiles, private looks, and soft touches that weren't on the nose by any means but still made him turn away in embarrassment because he resented the lack of shame in them. This was only made worse by the way Cas looked at him. Sympathetically, like he understood that Dean couldn't gave him that. Like he was content with never having anything close to this, as long as he got to be in Dean's presence all the same. Dean knew it was selfish, but he’d rather have Cas at a familiar distance than allow him in like Cas had done for him and risk losing him again. He’d barely survived being without Cas during the years when both their feelings had been unlabeled. It had been significantly harder after knowing the full extent of Cas’s devotion. He didn’t dare think of what he’d do if anything happened to Cas now that he knew he loved him too.

He was confronted with this fear around the six month mark of Cas’s return.

It was late at night but sleep wouldn’t come to him. Maybe it was the heartburn from one burger too many at dinner, or the fact that he was loudly blaring Bob Seger off an old tape he’d snatched from the battered shoe box stored away under the Impala’s front seat. Maybe it was the fact that he was wishing for Cas to be in bed next to him. When a timid knock sounded at his door, followed by Cas announcing his presence, Dean scrambled off his mattress in embarrassment, afraid his longing might accidentally have ventured dangerously close to prayer territory. Sometimes he liked the risk of it, testing the boundaries of how far he could allow his mind to wander before the thoughts would reach the angel two doors over. So far Cas had never given him any indication that they had. As he entered Dean’s room he wore only half of his trademark outfit, meaning he was in just his slacks and the white button-down. He looked naked, but not in a way Dean would have been tempted to think about. No, he seemed bare, like he was bracing himself for something and couldn’t be held back by even just the baggage of his layered clothes. His voice was low but sure as he asked to sit down on Dean’s bed to talk to him.

What came next completely threw him for a loop. Cas wanted to be _human_. Had been thinking about it for months. He wasn’t asking for Dean’s opinion on the matter, just came to share his decision. Somewhere deep down in the pit of his repressed emotions warmth coiled at the knowledge that he was the first person Cas was sharing this with, that no one else was as important. A more shallow part wanted to protest, beg Cas to not give himself up. Before he could voice anything at all, Cas’s hand was on his shoulder, firm and warm and grounding. He looked into Dean’s eyes imploringly.

All Dean could do was nod, still overwhelmed by the suddenness of the angel’s choice. Only it became clear as he opened himself to an explanation Cas was very patient to provide that it really wasn’t all that sudden. It had just been one more thing to completely slip under Dean’s radar while he had been too occupied with his own issues. Cas had lived as both an angel and a human and ever since his rebellion he’d been in a constant struggle with his divine origin, fighting to tip the scale either way so he could finally find peace in his identity. In Dean’s book he had always been an angel, even during the time he worked at that gas ‘n sip under his goofy alias he’d been _Cas_ _tiel_ _, Angel of the Lord_. But Cas, he had gotten a taste of something more. The way he held Dean’s gaze as he tried to convey the years of struggles that had gone into the decision now left him reeling with the realization that Cas was a _person_. With wants and needs and a history that should have stretched over a literal eternity but was really just compressed into a good dozen years. He’d always been an individual, Dean wasn’t completely stunted, but Cas had always been so much bigger than them, his struggles so mighty, that all those times that he had tried to express himself on a more grounded level- through _cheeseburgers_ and _bees_ and _brewskis_ of all things _-_ it had seemed like fleeting quirks. Nothing but little jabs at the absurdities of humanity. Dean had told him so many years ago to never change but Cas _had_. He’d already been changing then and he’d just grown into himself from there.

_You changed me, Dean._

Of all the nuclear breakdowns in their communication over the years, this may qualify as their biggest one. This entire time Cas had been giving himself to Dean piece by piece as he discovered himself, thinking that he understood while Dean had gathered it all, had confidently labeled it as weird angel quirks and hidden it away somewhere. Dean had been fond of it all, treasured the information, he’d just never realized it had never been about Cas understanding humanity or even just Dean- it had been about finding _himself_. The culmination of this was of course Cas’s last shard of self-actualization in the form of his confession and Dean immediately throwing it together with all the other little bits of his collection. For supposedly sharing a profound bound, they sure had network issues.

The stupidity of the situation hit Dean with so much force he felt himself gasping for air like the wind had been knocked out of him. Cas’s hand had never left him but suddenly the touch wasn’t enough to keep him steady. He reached out to clutch at Cas’s shoulder in a mirrored but more desperate gesture to the way Cas was gently holding him in place. Dean _needed_ him to know that he was sorry. For not understanding him, for dismissing him, for not being a good friend. Above all for doubting him. When they broke free, his words were a scrambled mess of pleas for forgiveness that were incomprehensible between heaving breaths and agonized sobs even to himself but Cas was open and patient and _loving_ , pulling the mess that was Dean Winchester in the moment of his deepest revelation to his chest and holding him there for safekeeping. It was ironic, how Cas had come to his room looking to liberate himself from his secret, yet it was Dean who stripped himself of all his reservations. He cried into the angel’s shoulder, holding on to him with everything he had while his tears lost any specific reason and just merged together into years, decades, of everything that had been repressed.

When he calmed down and remembered how to catch his breath he felt embarrassed but even that Cas knew how to counteract. A simple touch to Dean’s face, cradling it on either side to wipe at the last remaining tears with the pads of his thumbs, was enough to begin the process of reassembling him. Dean allowed it, welcomed it with a watery smile that came candidly for once. It was so clear now that it had never been a question of whether Cas loved him like an angel or like a human, because the answer was _both_. Of course there must be a part of angelic devotion mixed into it all, but Cas was more than that, couldn’t be reduced to something as simple as an _either/or_. He loved Dean freely, in his own unique way and Dean had been a fool to ever tell himself otherwise, falling victim to his own delusions of what love had to be in order to be valid.

For a long time they sat there in the fortress of the bunker’s early morning silence, not saying anything. Cas because he’d said all there could be said between them at this point in time and Dean because what he needed to say still wouldn’t come easy. Ultimately, Cas dropped his hands from Dean’s face and rested them in his own lap instead as he averted his eyes, steeling himself to retreat back to the more respectable distance he was usually allowed to stay at now that Dean didn’t need the support any more. Just out of reach. Dean couldn’t allow it.

In an instant he was off the mattress and on his knees in front of the angel, forcing him to keep looking into his eyes. Boldly, he covered Cas’s hands with his own, and while nothing had seemed to even slightly shake his bottomless composure, this was enough to make Cas’s eyes widen. He was even more grateful now that Cas had come to him with his wish to be human and given him the chance to finally get things right because what he needed to say, Cas needed to hear in every way, shape and form he came in. He needed to know there was no contingency, that Dean finally _saw_ him. Cas’s mouth fell open in a question he never got around to forming because Dean took the words from him and replaced them with his own.

“I love you.”

Kneeling there on his bedroom floor his voice had never echoed with more reverence, still it felt like he should have said more to match Cas’s wonderful ode to him. Looking at the angel’s face it was evident that there was no need. This was _all_ Cas needed to hear because it was _everything_ he never thought he could have. In reality he’d had it all along, it had only taken Dean an excruciating amount of time to be ready to offer it openly. Now he repeated the words, over and over, hoping they would etch themselves into Cas’s heart so he would remember them even during the times Dean inevitably screwed things up.

Somehow, ridiculously, Cas sank to the floor with him, collapsing into Dean’s confession with a breathy laugh like he could not fully comprehend what was happening. It was Dean’s turn to ground him, guiding Cas’s hand to his chest where he knew he would feel his pounding heart. He hoped that the mad rhythm would drive home the truth of his words. Cas nodded like he understood this reasoning perfectly even though nothing was explained but curled his hand into the fabric of Dean’s shirt, clearly resisting something.

Dean’s heart stuttered under the realization that he was the one who had put that resistance there but he vowed not to repeat past mistakes. He whispered Cas’s name, compelling him to meet his eyes so he could read the unspoken promises in them, everything beyond the _I love you’_ _s_ that still hung so sweetly in the air. When he was certain that they were on the same page for once in their dysfunctional history, Dean reached out to close the final gap between them.

It should have been timid, cautious, but they had wasted so much time with waiting that they had exhausted all their combined restraint. Cas all but climbed into his lap as he charged forward, fervently kissing him back. The way his mouth moved against Dean’s spoke volumes of how very much he loved him, yet he still offered him the words whenever they broke even just a breath apart. Dean held him close, ignoring the way his body protested under his weight and the uncomfortable position on the floor, taking the pain as penance for every lost opportunity that had kept them from this precise moment. His head spun and his lungs ached but he could not find it in himself to break the kiss and risk losing the taste of Cas’s lips in the space between them, even knowing he would have a full human life of stealing it over and over again. When it got to be too much after all he cursed under his breath and touched his forehead to Cas’s to give them both a chance at finding some semblance of composure. They sat there for a moment longer, sharing foolish smiles, before Dean dragged himself away and onto his feet, hauling Cas with him.

His bed called out to them, the memory foam a tempting juxtaposition to the unforgiving floor, but as much as he wanted to give into everything at once, the rational part of his brain had been recharged with just enough oxygen to voice its muted protest. They were in the very unique position of having nothing but time. Neither of them was dying, or threatened, or keeping secrets so there was no rush. They’d have the next day and the following week and the rest of the year and hopefully a couple of decades to come, followed by an eternity in whatever Heaven Jack was cooking up for them. Now, in this moment, all they had to do was be happy _together._ Just because.

He sent Cas back to his room what felt like a long time later with lingering kisses and hushed sentiments for the short journey, committing fully to everything he had to give and already regretting his own discipline the moment the door fell shut but basking in the sweetness of it all nonetheless.

Cas welcomed his humanity on a Thursday.

Dean was likely more nervous than the ex-angel-to-be, pacing around the bunker kitchen and keeping his hands busy by preparing all of Cas’s favorite foods to make the transition a worthy celebration, unlike the tragedy that was the last time. He left Sam and Eileen in charge of decorating the library, shooing them out of his domain whenever they came to sneak a peek in a barely hidden pretense of checking on his mental state. It was by far the longest afternoon of his life and he was a complete wreck by the time the air in the bunker started to prickle with the unique electric charge of something _more_ that announced Jack’s divine presence.

It was a quiet arrival as Cas appeared in their middle with a radiant smile. He graced them all with adoring looks, as if he was seeing them for the very first time, until he focused on Dean to utter his trademark greeting. Dean held out his arm in a silent invitation, allowing Cas to settle into his side. He pressed a kiss into messy dark hair, not caring that all eyes were on him and whispered the only words that mattered.

“Welcome home, Cas.”


End file.
